


A Spoonful of Sugar

by Aurea_Aetas



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, gratuitous use of queen lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurea_Aetas/pseuds/Aurea_Aetas
Summary: Warlock has a nightmare. Nanny Ashtoreth helps.





	A Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted to my tumblr @wildeoscars

It was well past midnight, but Crowley—or rather, _Nanny Ashtoreth_ —was still awake. Seated in the cushioned rocking chair in the room the Dowlings provided for him, he—or _she_ , to the Dowlings—nursed a cup of tea that may or may not have been spiked with Sazerac de Forge & Fils. Despite the cognac flowing through his veins, the equally comfortable bed across from him, and the luxurious nightgowns and robes he had been favoring lately, he still found it increasingly hard to sleep these days. Too much to worry about, too much to plan, all to ensure that young Warlock Dowling turned out entirely _normal_.

Warlock was four years old and incredibly precocious, finally starting to come into a personality of his own. He was easily swayed by the influences of the adults in his life—that being he and Aziraphale, of course. His parents were always far too busy to dote on him, hence why they hired them in the first place. Aziraphale found it heartbreaking that Warlock seemed to love them more than his own parents, but in Crowley’s mind that only meant the plan was working. The more he cared, the more he would listen to them, and the easier the apocalypse would be avoided. 

The only terror Crowley had to deal with on a regular basis was the absolute reckless ignorance with which Aziraphale was tending to the Dowlings’ garden. The angel had good intentions, but for go—for sat—for _somebody’s_ sake, slugs were not to be nurtured!

He had been contemplating going out to the garden himself when he heard the tiniest of knocks on his door, followed by the tiniest whisper: 

“Nanny? Are you awake?”

Warlock had opened the door a crack, and Crowley could see as he tried to peer inside, a sliver of light from the hall casting along the carpeted floor. 

“Yes, dearie,” he replied as he set his tea down, his voice taking on the gentle brogue that Warlock had come to associate with his nanny. “No need to hide. Come in.”

Crowley expected to have to prepare a change of sheets, or perhaps fetch him another glass of water. The typical requests of a 4 year old awakened from his slumber in the middle of the night. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the faint sniffling as Warlock shuffled into the room, or the teary-eyed gaze that faced him. 

He had seen the child cry before, of course. As a confused newborn, as a hungry baby without the luxury of speech, as a boy with a scraped knee. It was a nanny’s job to deal with children’s tears, but this was entirely different, seemingly out of nowhere. It told Crowley that this wouldn’t be as simple as covering something with a plaster.

He most certainly was not _nice_ , but his chest ached all the same for his ward.

“What’s wrong, dear heart?” He asked as he moved from the chair, adjusting his robe before kneeling to be at eye-level with the distressed child. Warlock’s eyes met his sunglasses, and the boy sniffled again, his lower lip trembling.

“I had a bad dream.” he explained, moving to wipe his nose with his sleeve. Crowley summoned a handkerchief before he had the chance to ruin his new pajamas, having him blow his nose properly before they did anything else.

Crowley _understood_ nightmares. As much as he loved to sleep, it was rarely peaceful. Memories rarely left him alone. Perhaps he would be able to help him after all.

“Why don’t you come here and tell Nanny about it?” He suggested as he moved back to the rocking chair, hands outstretched in a wordless invitation for Warlock to sit on his lap. The child climbed up easily, taking a seat on his knee as he had done what must have been hundreds of times before in his young life.

Crowley had objected to the contact at first, claiming that it wasn’t a demon’s job to offer comfort. But his new role was a nanny first and foremost, and it was a nanny’s job to nurture. One can’t do that at an arm’s length. Now, a handful of years later, Crowley was pulling Warlock close and carding a soothing hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

It didn’t take Warlock long to open up to him, but then again, it rarely did. “Daddy’s plane crashed,” he explained, voice muffled somewhat by the thick fabric of Crowley’s robe.

Ah, yes. Thaddeus Dowling had left that morning on a diplomatic assignment to Iran, and everyone was reasonably nervous. It would seem that young Warlock, who hardly spent time with his father in the first place, was the most nervous of all. 

Perhaps his concern for a man he rarely saw proved that he was tipping more into the _good_ category, but now wasn’t the time to sow the seeds of evil within his mind. The boy was clearly upset, and that would only do more harm.

At least Aziraphale wasn’t around to see him imprinting kindness on the child. He would _never_ let him live it down. Thankfully, though, as groundskeeper Aziraphale had his own quarters separate from the home, and there was no risk of him seeing such tenderness.

“Not to worry, dear,” Crowley assured him as they gently rocked in the rocking chair, “your father will be landing soon and all will be right as rain.”

So perhaps in that instance Crowley had used his abilities to ensure the ambassador's safe landing, but if anyone downstairs were to question it, it could easily be explained away as part of the ineffable plan. Keeping the ambassador in the picture would help nourish the antichrist’s power, his corrupt influence shaping his young mind.

Part of Crowley wondered what sway Warlock’s dreams would later have on the course of the world. It was too early yet. He hadn't yet come into his power, but the demon knew what the antichrist was capable of, even on a subconscious level. 

He knew he couldn’t stop the inevitable, but it was early yet. They still had 7 years--and Warlock had 7 years to grow more powerful, yet he couldn’t find it in his heart to fear the boy. Not when the sniffling had subsided and he was cuddling into his chest.

“Will you sing for me, Nanny?”

That was the one part of his job he hadn’t quite mastered yet. He knew songs, of course. Just...none that would typically put a child to sleep. Most nights typically involved him inventing something on the spot, hoping it all made sense in the end. But it was late, and Nanny’s brain was a bit foggy from the cognac. He was in no space to just make up a lullaby.

Well, when in doubt, it was safe to take a page from the Bentley’s book.

“ _My fairy king, he rules the air and turns the tides and can see things that are not there for you and me.”_ Crowley knew his voice was nowhere near Freddie’s, particularly not as Nanny Ashtoreth, but it was a calm enough song that would undoubtedly do the trick. _“My fairy king, he guides the winds. He can do right and nothing wrong_.”

The singing and gentle rocking were quick to lull Warlock back to sleep, nestled comfortable and safe against his nanny. 

Crowley rocked Warlock for several more minutes, making sure no further nightmares would arise, before carrying him back to his bedroom. He skillfully avoided toys still strewn about on the floor, tucking his ward back into bed without disturbing him in the least. 

Crowley watched him a moment longer, his peaceful face illuminated by the dinosaur night light, and hoped that this would be enough. That they would be enough. He was quite fond of the world, after all. And quite fond of young Warlock. 

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. He had a garden to fix. Out into the night he went, so Aziraphale would be none the wiser when he returned in the morning.

A nanny’s work was never done.


End file.
